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“You,” I said.
“Jamie,” said Eric. “Jamie,” he said again, as though he was testing my name on his tongue.
“Hello,” I said. I didn’t know whether I wanted to hug him or slap his face—maybe a combination of both. But most of all, I wanted to be somewhere else other than here. Somewhere where I wouldn’t have to talk to the man who’d changed my life forever.
Who’druinedmy life? Or tried to, anyway. I loved my daughter, but those first few years hadn’t been easy.
“I should be going,” I said and then turned away. But before I could, I saw Eric’s broad, strong arm thrust out and take me.
“Go?” he said. “But I haven’t seen you in … I mean, is that all you have to say to me?”
Is that all?I looked into his eyes, and suddenly I realized I was frowning, that my face was puckering into a scowl. I felt ugly, annoyed, and, most of all, pitied. It was like he was concerned for me. Well, it was too late for Eric to show me concern. That was long past.
“I’m pretty busy,” I muttered. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d better get going, Mr. Slade. But it was nice to see you again.”
But it wasn’t nice. It was all kinds of things, but notnice. And as I saw Eric’s eyes narrow, I knew he knew that too.
I turned and walked away. I stared blankly at my room key as I made my way through the crowded lobby and into the elevator. I was only on the third floor of the hotel, and after the elevator stopped and its doors clunked open in that pleasing, old-fashioned way, I stumbled out and into the corridor. I went to the far end and unlocked my room. The concierge had brought up my bags already, and I could see them sitting in the corner, my Marc Jacobs travel bag and my pink suitcase together in a little pile. I closed the door behind me, stopped, and sighed.
I pressed my back against the door and before I knew it, I’d exhaled and was panting as I slowly slid down the door and sat on the floor. So, the rumors were true. Eric Slade was coming to the convention. And I was going to have to spend the rest of the week seeing him around—or rather, avoiding him.
In the years since Eric and I had slept together, since that magical, terrible night when he’d taken my virginity and gotten me pregnant, I’d watched his rise to power from afar. Of course, I’d kept my eye on him. I couldn’t resist reading the latest think piece about how he was the future of the industry, and more often than not his name came up at conventions and trade show journals. It amazed people when I told them I’d met him. I wonder what they would have said if I’d told them the rest of my story.
But part of me had been hoping that Eric would have forgotten me. Or that he wouldn’t want to talk, wouldn’t want to say hi. How could I stand there and make small talk with the man who’d changed the course of my life irrevocably? I knew it had been my choice, my decision to sleep with him, and my decision to have his baby. And I didn’t regret it for a moment. But part of me knew that Eric wouldn’t have wanted to know, anyway. He wouldn’t have wanted to know what he’d put me through. Why had I felt the need to protect him from the knowledge of what we’d done together? And so, when Cassie was born, I didn’t record her dad’s name.
I knew it would have destroyed my dad if he found out. Eric and I sleeping together was one thing. But for Eric to get me pregnant and not even be there for the birth of his child?
My dad was staying on the other side of Cape Cod, in a beautiful guesthouse. Maybe I could go stay with him for the convention—maybe I wouldn’t have to spend any longer with Eric than necessary. And right now, I needed to hear his voice.
But before that, I needed to hear someone else’s.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Hello, old friend,” I murmured to my phone, as I unlocked the screen. I pulled up Facetime and called Janine.
There was a rustle and a dial tone, and then the camera burst into life. Janine was in her kitchen in her beautiful house in Charlestown.
“Hello BEAUTIFUL!” she said. “How are you?”
“All the better to see you,” I said bashfully, hoping I wasn’t still flushed from my encounter with Eric.
“I told you, ever since that day we met in the kindergarten classroom, I knew we’d be best friends,” Janine said. She tossed her curly red hair over her shoulder and put a hand on her hip.
“How did you know it was me you wanted to talk to that day?”
“Well duh. I knew that the only mom I wanted to be friends with in that fancy place was the only other one smart enough to raise a kid on her own!”
I laughed. It was kind of true. Janine and I had honed in on each other as two single, working moms. When I’d dropped Cassie off at playgroup and she’d clung in fear to my leg, Janine lured her away from the others with the promise of some seriously goodPlay-Doh. We’d been best friends ever since. Both of us worked in business and marketing, and we’d chosen to raise our kids without their dads. Only, my situation wasn’t chosen. And it was thanks to Janine that I could even come to the convention: she’d agreed to take Cassie for the week and was the only person I trusted besides my dad.
“Still, enough of me. I know who you want to hear from,” said Janine. She turned the camera around, and then I saw a tangle of curls and a pair of dark brown eyes. And I knew I was looking into the face of my baby girl.
“Say hi to your momma!” said Janine.
Cassie waved: She was sitting on the sofa, a coloring book balanced across her lap at which she was scribbling away with a crayon. She looked up and squealed and waved. “Hi momma!” she said.
“Hi, pumpkin!” I said, choked with emotion at seeing her. “How are you?”
“I’m good!” she said. “Aunty Janine says I’m a good colorer.”
“And how!” Janine said, off-screen.
